


Christmas With A Stranger

by TheTwistedWillow



Series: A Year's Journey [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Appendicitis, Caretaker Castiel, Christmas, Doctor Castiel, Doctor/Patient, Explicit Language, F/M, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Patient Dean, Strangers to Lovers, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Appendicitis lands Dean Winchester at Saint Gabriel's Hospital on Christmas Eve. He wakes up on Christmas Day missing his appendix, but he makes quick friends with Nurse Lisa Braeden and Doctor Castiel Novak. The chemistry between Dean and Cas is instantaneous, and both men find exactly what they need in each other over the holiday.WIP warning: this is an open-ending as it will be created into a 12-month series.





	1. Chapter 1

“As soon as the snow lets up, we’ll be down there to see you.” Sam lowers his voice. “I wish we could’ve gotten out of here before the blizzard hit, so we wouldn’t have to be stuck up here in Minnesota.”

Dean snorts into his phone. “What? You not lovin’ being at the in-laws’?” He shifts on the couch, where he’s been lying for the last hour. The movement reminds him of why he's been lying down and he's unable to control a sharp hiss from escaping from between his teeth.  
  
Dean closes his eyes and bites his fist, hoping his brother didn’t hear him, but no dice. Sam asks, “Are you okay? What was that?”  
  
There’s pain radiating throughout Dean's abdomen, a pain that has progressively gotten worse over the past week, and no amount of Pepto-Bismol is touching it. “S’nothin’,” Dean lies.   
  
“Dean, that didn’t sound like nothing,” Sam says in his sternest voice. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Just a stomach cramp,"Dean manages to say between clenched teeth. He'd been doing a damn good job of hiding it from Sam for the five minutes they've been on the phone but Sam isn't going to let it go now.

“Seriously, Dean. That didn’t sound like you ate one too many Jack Link’s. Sounds like—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy and can handle it. Prob’ly just need to sleep it off, or something.”

Sam sighs loudly. “Just, ya know, try and take care of yourself for once. If it gets worse then go see someone.”  
  
“Dude, it’s Christmas Eve. I’m not goin’ anywhere but to my bed.”  
  
“And you do see why that statement is exactly what worries me. It’s only nine. Since when do you go to bed before eleven?” Sam argues.

There’s another sharp pain but Dean bites his lip, slapping a hand over his phone, hoping that Sam doesn’t hear him whimper. Maybe there is something more to this stomach thing. But he’ll be so fucking embarrassed if he shows up to the E.R. with gas.

“Welcome to old age, buddy,” he grits out once the pain settles into a dull ache.  
  
“You’re not even thirty yet, Dean,” Sam says and Dean can practically hear the bitchface he’s making.  
  
“Well, I’ll be thirty in one month, so there,” Dean argues back.  
  
Sam’s tone changes suddenly. “Oh, hey, Eileen’s mom is calling for me. I’m supposed to be helping gather supplies, in case we lose power. If you need something, go to a fucking doctor, Dean. Don’t try to be some hero.” He softens his time when he says, “I’ll check in with you soon.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Be safe. And, uh, Merry Christmas in case I don’t hear from ya tomorrow.”  
  
“You, too. Merry Christmas, Dean.”  
  
Dean hangs up the phone and tries to sit up but his stomach feels like it is filled with smoldering coal. Nausea and heat wash through him and it’s only then he realizes he’s freezing and his skin is shivering with fever.  
  
Every worst-case-scenario weasels their way into his imagination. Dean finds himself huddled in a coat, behind the wheel of his car, on his way to the nearest emergency room. At one point he thinks he’s going to black out and pulls over until the dizziness passes.  
  
He stubbornly refuses to use the valet services that the hospital offers at the E.R. entrance. Instead, he parks the Impala himself and begins a slow trek to the doors. Doors that suddenly seem so very far away from the visitor parking lot.  
  
Luckily, someone in scrubs strolls out of the automatic doors and heads straight for the cars parked behind him, probably coming off of their shift.

After sitting in a bumpy car, the pain is even more unbearable and it almost brings Dean to his knees. He reaches for the nurse that is about to walk by before his vision goes dark.

When Dean wakes up he feels like he’s light as a feather, happily floating to wakefulness. He’s not even surprised to find he’s in a hospital room, just mildly aware and slowly taking it all in. He smiles at everything and no one, because he’s all alone in the room.  
  
Until, suddenly, he isn’t. One moment he’s looking at the window, a bit of dawn seeping through the blinds, and the next moment there’s a woman standing next to the bed. She gingerly takes his wrist, pressing her fingers to his pulse.  
  
“Wow,” he says, eyes wide as he looks over at her.  
  
The woman is ducking her head and looks up at him through her lashes. Her hair is a cascade of dark waves that he really wants to reach up to touch, but his arms feel too heavy, despite his sense of weightlessness.  
  
Instead, he smiles and murmurs, “Your hair looks soft.”  
  
“Well, aren’t you a charmer? I see you’re feeling well after the surgery. I’m Lisa, and I’ll be your nurse today. The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you about what happened, okay?”  
  
The nurse’s voice is calm and soothing, and she has a gentleness to her face. Dean decides he can trust her. Whatever drugs that are pumping through his veins make his eyes feel heavy so he lets the sweet pull of sleep take him under as Lisa finishes taking his vitals.  
  
The next time he wakes up, it’s to a different voice gently calling his name. This waking isn’t as pleasant earlier in the morning. The drugs have faded away enough for him to actually feel everything. His tongue feels thick and dry, his eyes don’t seem to want to cooperate as he valiantly tries to open them, and he’s aware of a dull throb on his right side.  
  
“Mr. Winchester?” a gruff voice says again before lowering even deeper. “Dim the lights, Nurse Braeden. Please.”  
  
Once the lights go down, Dean finds it a little easier to get his eyes open and he blinks up at a man in a white lab coat. Like the nurse, he has dark hair, black in the dim light. Dean cannot make out the doctor’s eye color from the distance between them in the low light but, nonetheless, Dean is thunderstruck by his handsome face.  
  
“Wow,” he says, immediately feeling stupid, but the doctor doesn’t react except to lean a little closer to stare, raking his _blue_ eyes, Dean realizes, slowly over Dean’s face.  
  
“He says that a lot,” Lisa quips from behind the doctor’s shoulder.  
  
“Mr. Winchester, I’m Dr. Novak. Do you know where you are?” he asks, continuing only after Dean nods. “We do not have a contact for you. Wife? Parent?”  
  
Dean shakes his head, eyes locked onto the doctor’s lips before flicking back up to Dr. Novak’s eyes. Dean's voice is dry and rough when he speaks. “No spouse, no parents. Just a kid brother, who isn’t technically a kid. He's married. And he’s out of state.”  
  
“Even out-of-state kin is perfectly acceptable. If you could give us his details for your records, just in case something were to arise? Then we’d be able to contact him for you.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Dean reads off Sam’s number by memory as Lisa types it into a thin device she’s holding.  
  
After Dean’s emergency contact is filled in with Sam’s details, Dr. Novak begins to explain what had happened. “Late last night you had an emergency appendectomy. Your appendix had become inflamed and infected. From my understanding, you fainted--”  
  
“Whoa,” Dean croaks. “I didn’t-- I don’t _faint_ .”  
  
The doctor quirks a brow at him and purses his lips. “Very well. You were ‘out cold’,” Dr. Novak says, using finger quotes, “and you went into surgery almost immediately, after it was confirmed your appendix was close to rupturing. It was what you would call a ‘close call’.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean says, the mental image of one of his organs bursting inside of him makes him visibly shudder. “Did you perform the surgery?”  
  
“I did not, but your aftercare is my responsibility. You may even be able to go home by tonight, or tomorrow morning. Your at-home recovery will take at least one week, to about a month.”  
  
Dean smirks. “I’ll lick it in a week, tops.”  
  
The doctor’s brow instantly furrows. “No, I don’t recommend licking it. Though, it’s not likely that you could physically reach the incisions anyway.”  
  
Behind Dr. Novak, Lisa puts a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Dean beams at her before shaking his head at the doctor. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean-- You know what? Never mind.”  
  
Apparently the entire exchange is enough to unsettle the good doctor. He stutters out, “A--uh, Nurse Braeden? Does-- could you help him walk? I’ll, um, be back in a bit.”  
  
Dean watches the doctor pivot on his heel and stride quickly out of the room. “Am I still high? Did that just happen?” he asks Lisa.  
  
She stops trying to hold back her laughter, openly giggling as she checks his IV and then raises the back of the bed up.  
  
“Dr. Novak can take things real literal at first. And then it catches up to him, a little too late, to his embarrassment. I really shouldn’t laugh. It’s just… I can picture what he was most likely picturing and I can’t help it.”  
  
Lisa pulls the blankets back and helps Dean swing his legs over the side of the bed. He’s still a little sluggish and therefore momentarily confused about how he got into a hospital gown. It finally occurs to him that nurses must have gotten him ready for surgery. He just hopes they didn’t have to cut his jeans off of him. He really likes that pair.   
  
“So, uh, walking? Already?”  
  
“Yes, you had a laparoscopic surgery,” Lisa explains. “You know, with lasers.”  
  
Dean can’t help the grin that splits his face. “Awesome.”  
  
“After this particular procedure, doctors want patients up and moving not long after. The sedation has worn off so we’re just going to try to walk around the floor once, okay?”  
  
“Make it twice. I said I was going to kick this in the ass, sooner rather than later.”  
  
Lisa clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t push it, Mr. Winchester.”  
  
“Please, call me Dean. I’m not old enough to be called a mister yet.”  
  
“Alright then. Dean,” Lisa says with her thousand-watt smile. “Hold on just a sec. Let me grab a second gown to put over your backside. We don’t want you mooning the other patients.”  
  
By the time they’ve made it back to the room, they had seen Dr. Novak three separate times, ducking in and out of rooms to check on patients. And each time the doctor came into Dean’s view, it was a paddles-to-his-chest kind of shock. Dr. Novak is even more handsome, and hardly anyone looks good under fluorescent bulbs. Which means that Dr. Novak must be a fucking knock-out in natural light.

After Lisa helps Dean back into bed, he asks her for two things. One, he wants his phone. And two, he wants to know the doctor’s first name.  
  
“His name is Castiel, why?” she asks, going across the room to open a cabinet. Dean can see a big plastic bag. She dips a slender, pale arm into it and pulls it back out, producing his jeans. She finds the phone in a pocket, puts the jeans back, and walks back over to the bed.  
  
Dean has no new texts or messages so Sam and Eileen must've lost power, or Sam turned if off to conserve power. He hopes his brother is alright. He starts typing a message out to Sam to let him know where he’s at even as he continues to talk to the nurse.  
  
“Just curious. You call me Dean, I call you Lisa." Dean shrugs. "Now I can call him Cas, instead of the several syllables it takes to get _Doctor Novak_ out.”  
  
“Uh-huh," Lisa says with a tone of disbelief that Dean chooses to ignore. "Well, here is the call button if you need someone and this button turns on the television. You look like a smart guy so I am going to assume you know how to change channels. A food tray will be brought by shortly. If you think the pain is starting to get bad, just let someone know. Okay?”  
  
“Yeah, get on with your other patients,” Dean says, already turning his attention to the ceiling-mounted television screen. He turns on daytime television and snuggles down on the stiff bed. It’s only when he’s dozing off to the _Doctor Sexy, M.D._ theme song that he realizes it’s Christmas Day.  
  
Dean wakes up in pain and to a very stoic doctor staring down at him.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” he gasps. “What’re you--”  
  
“I was just about to wake you. You’re grimacing. You're in pain,” Dr. Novak observes. He reaches for the remote lying next to Dean’s hand just as Dean nervously clutches it.  
  
Dean is the one who pulls away, giving up the remote to the doctor, every tiny place where their skin touched zinging with electricity. He is so startled he can’t even poke fun at how strange it was to wake up to the doctor watching him.  
  
Dr. Novak presses a button and waits for someone to answer, their voice crackling through the speaker embedded within the device. “Yes, how can I help you?”  
  
“This is Dr. Novak. Mr. Winchester needs pain relief.” He rattles off the type and dosage before returning the device to the spot next to Dean's hip.  
  
The room is brighter than it had been before Dean had fallen asleep so he can see the concern in the blue depths of Dr. Novak’s eyes. His lips are pulled into a stressed line, his exaggerated cupid’s bow captivating Dean’s attention.  
  
Dr. Novak sucks his upper lip in, his tongue darting out to moisten it, before he parts his lips to speak. Dean rips his gaze away when he realizes just how long he’s been staring.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Novak asks carefully.  
  
Dean huffs and looks away. “Worse than I thought I would, but nothin’ I can’t handle.” He looks back to find the doctor’s lip curled up in amusement, in an almost-smile.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll be just fine. You will be taking an antibiotic during your recovery period. No matter how ‘badass’,” he lifts his hands to do those weird finger quotes again, “you think you are, you need to promise me you’ll finish the entire course.”  
  
Playing off the fact that a doctor just used the word _badass,_ and feeling sarcastic himself, Dean says, “Oh yeah? And if I don’t?”  
  
An unfamiliar nurse walks in just then, tummy round with pregnancy, her disposition indifferent. She gives Dean the pills and a little cup of water. “Food trays have just arrived so you’ll be getting yours shortly,” she offers, before disposing of the Dixie cups on her way out the door.  
  
“If you don’t, you risk infection,” Dr. Novak says, as if the interruption never happened. It takes Dean a second to remember what they were talking about but Dr. Novak carries on. “Do you have anyone to help you when you get home? What do you do for a living? You should take off work for at least a few days, if not a whole week if your job is labor intensive.”  
  
Dean snorts and folds his arms across his chest, trying to ignore the nausea that begins to roll from his stomach and up to his esophagus. “My brother’s stuck in some blizzard hundreds of miles away, so just me. And I’m a mechanic, who can’t afford to take off, especially not when y’all start sending me the bills for this.”

“Yes, well, you also can’t afford to rip open incisions, no matter how small those incisions may be, or get them dirty. You need to rest. Perhaps there is a desk job at your garage, for the time being?” The doctor tilts his head at Dean. “I'll go see about your food. You’re looking a bit green.”

Dean rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. Rich doctor doesn’t get it. Not everybody has paid time-off and now Dean is worried he’ll have to get back to the shop before he’s ready. He hates feeling weak and useless. 

And he admittedly hates being alone. The sounds of the ICU filter in to his room as he waits for someone to come back. He's not tired enough to sleep in order to pass the time.

He’s surprised when Dr. Novak himself returns, juggling a cafeteria tray in one hand and a brown bag in his other.  
  
Dr. Novak sets the tray down on a wheeled table that he pushes to the side of the bed. The small table juts out over Dean’s lap. He looks at the doctor questioningly as he raises the back of his bed with the push of a button.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind. It’s my lunch break and I thought I’d join you?” Dr. Novak asks.  
  
“Yeah, man, it’s cool. Better than eating,” Dean uncovers his tray and wrinkles his nose, “Jello and soup all by myself.”  
  
“I don't envy your lunch,” Dr. Novak says, peering at the bland contents that Dean is frowning at. “Perhaps I shouldn't eat in front of you.”  
  
“Nah, s’okay. Pop a squat,” Dean says, gesturing toward a visitor chair across the room. Dr. Novak hesitates but goes toward the chair. “You can unpack your picnic here.” Dean scoots over carefully and pats the bed space next to his thigh.  
  
Dean is busy blowing steam off of the soup, and watching Dr. Novak drag the chair over, but he just has to ask, “Is this normal? Doctors eating with their patients?”  
  
“I'm not a conventional doctor. Nor a conventional person, I suppose.” Dr. Novak frowns, his expression troubled by his own confession, as he pulls out what appears to be roast beef on rye.  
  
“Hey,” Dean says, tilting his head down until the doctor makes eye contact. “Not a bad thing. I personally like people who buck tradition, Cas.”  
  
Blue eyes blink in surprise but Cas doesn’t correct Dean for being informal. “And do you _buck_ tradition?” Cas asks, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.  
  
“Hell yeah. I do what I want, what I like, whether society likes it or not. I don’t really have many hang-ups.” Dean slurps jello off of a plastic spoon, side-eyeing Cas for a reaction, but the doctor just takes a bite of his sandwich and looks back at him like it’s the most normal thing for people to eat as noisily as possible.  
  
“So, no offense,” Dean says, wanting to address Cas’ earlier snafu, “but I noticed you kinda take things literal and you looked really confused when I told you to 'pop a squat'.”  
  
Cas frowns again and Dean realizes just how little he’s seen the man smile in the few short interactions they’ve had. The doctor is obviously intelligent but also incredibly serious.

“I suppose growing up in a sheltered home, and then devoting my time to study and to work, hasn’t exactly afforded me the luxury of learning the street lingo or being quick to understand a lot of slang.”  
  
Dean chuckles but stops when Cas scowls. “I’m not laughing at you,” he says, holding up a hand. “Honestly, I think it’s kinda cute.”  
  
“Cute..?” Cas says slowly and he blinks at Dean in confusion, like he’s never been called cute before.  
  
“Yeah, cute. You know, if someone says something that is weird, weird to you, just try to not respond right away with the first thing that pops in your head. Tell yourself that the person prob’ly means something else.”

Cas nods slowly. “That's very good advice. Thank you, Mr. Win--”  
  
“Nuh-uh. I think it’s obvious we’re on first name basis now. It’s Dean,” he says, dropping his spoon onto his tray and leaning his head back against the bed.  
  
“Okay,” Cas says and Dean’s stomach does flip-flops when Cas stares at him for a few heartbeats, his name rumbling from between two pink lips in an almost prayerful whisper, “Dean.”  
  
Oh shit.  
  
Oh fuck.  
  
That’s sexy.  
  
Dean opens his mouth, to crack some joke. He needs to knock himself loose from this crazy hold Cas seems to have over him as they watch each other, but Lisa breezes into the room with a quick knock against the wall.  
  
“Am I interrupting?” she asks, eyes wide, looking between the two men’s faces.  
  
“No, Nurse Braeden, we were just finishing up. I thought you were heading home?” Cas asks, his gaze reluctantly moving from Dean to Lisa.  
  
“I am. I wanted to come wish our best patient a Merry Christmas and let him know I probably won’t get to see him again before his discharge.” Lisa turns to Dean, smiling brightly. “You take care of yourself and make sure you follow the doctor’s orders so we don’t see you here again.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says with a smile. “I’ve already been threatened by Cas here, to do as I’m told, or else.” Well, it’s half a lie. Cas didn’t really threaten anything but the truth about infection.  
  
Lisa quirks a brow and turns to the doctor with a questioning expression but Cas remains quiet, aside from him crushing his lunch bag in his hands.  
  
“Thank you for being a good nurse,” Dean says. “Enjoy Christmas with your family.”  
  
“I will, thank you! Just my son and me, but I’m really excited to go home and spend the rest of the holiday with him.” She looks past Dean. “Thank you, Dr. Novak. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
Dean feels a pang of guilt that she had to be at work at all, for someone like him, on a holiday. She walks out with a final wave and Cas stands up, tossing his crumpled bag into the trash can clear across the room.  
  
“Damn, that was impressive,” Dean mumbles, starting to feel drowsy from the painkiller, or maybe it’s normal post-surgery fatigue. He lowers the back of the bed to a more comfortable position.

“I should get back to work, Dean.” He grabs Dean’s empty tray. “If you need anything, your nurse is now Missouri. You can use the call button on your remote to ask for her.”  
  
“Wait,” Dean says, lifting his head and causing Cas to pause near the door. “Are you clockin’ out, too?”  
  
Cas chuckles and his small smile looks sad. “Ah, no. I'm working a double. I'm afraid you’ll be stuck with me into the evening.”  
  
“But why? It’s Christmas. Don’t you have some family to get home to, like Lisa?”  
  
“I'm working so that another doctor, who does have family, does not have to come in on Christmas. The nurses are understaffed, unfortunately, so Lisa did have to come in this morning. But it has been fairly quiet on the floor today so I sent her home early. Have a good rest,” Cas murmurs before he turns and walks out.  
  
It takes Dean a few moments to process what Cas had said, and he realizes that Cas is probably just as alone, and lonely, as Dean. Hell, the guy spent his lunch break with Dean, of all people, so he’s gotta be desperate for a friend. Dean resolves to be just that, if Cas will allow it.

Drowsy, but not tired, Dean watches the television mindlessly. He checks his phone but Sam still hasn’t messaged him back. And he finally gets to meet Missouri, who comes in to sass him, give him water, check his pain level, get him up to walk and stretch, and mother hen him. 

Somehow he doesn’t mind it so much from her. She’s a sweet, maternal woman that deserves to be with her family as well. Unless, he thinks, she doesn’t have any. But the thought is too sad to contemplate so he doesn’t ask her about them.

He uses the bathroom, washes his face in the tiny sink and dinner finally arrives. Dean gets some bland pasta with a cream sauce, steamed vegetables and pudding. It’s a step up from the canned chicken noodle soup he had for lunch.

Just when he thinks that he's about to pass out from sheer boredom, Missouri comes back to change his dressings.

“You’re not bashful, are ya, honey? If you want I can get you another gown—“

He cuts her off and carefully pulls his arms out of the sleeves, folding the hospital gown down until his bandages, and his entire torso, are exposed. It’s going to be his first good look at his incisions since he was asleep the other times Lisa had checked on them, or so he was told.

Missouri hums a song as she sets out the supplies she needs to clean the wounds and bandage him up.

When she pulls off the gauze, Dean exclaims, “That’s it? I thought I’d have been cut nearly in half.” He squints down at the tiniest incisions while Missouri chuckles.

A knock interrupts them and Cas walks in, his eyes on Dean’s heating face as Cas steps up next to Missouri. Dean silently berates himself for acting like some shy prude. Cas is a doctor for Christ’s sake. He’s probably unaffected by bodies.

Cas finally looks down, to Dean’s relief, or horror; he can’t decide. “So far everything looks fine. Great, actually,” Cas says deeply, his eyes wandering away from the incisions and to the planes of Dean’s chest before resting on Dean’s eyes.

But then Cas hardens his gaze. “I don’t see any reason to keep you here overnight, so I will have Dr. Raphael draw up your discharge papers.”

The thought of going home, alone, is depressing. But Dean does miss his memory foam and his own food, his Netflix, his bathroom... everything.

“Yeah, uh, sounds good. Wait, who?”

“My shift is ending now, but I’ll have Dr. Raphael discharge you.” With that, Cas turns and leaves.

“Mmm hmm,” Missouri says to no one in particular as she finishes up. Dean almost forgot she was there. “I’ll get your clothes for ya, honey. Do you need help getting dressed?” Dean shakes his head. “This process isn't quick so it may still be a bit before you leave. Take your time and call if you need me.”

She goes to the cabinet and brings the bag and Dean’s boots to the foot of the bed, where he’s already standing. Other than a dull ache when he twists or moves certain ways, he seems to be doing okay.

He gets dressed quietly, perplexed by Cas’ mood change. Maybe he read him wrong. But Cas is the one who had chosen to eat lunch with Dean. And now he’s clocking out without so much as a goodbye? At the very least it would’ve been nice to be friends. God knows Dean could use a few in his life.

He decides to wait in the chair Cas had used at lunch, instead of climbing back onto the bed, waiting for this Dr. Raphael. He’s expecting a man but when he hears the sharp clack of heels on the floor, he's met with a sharply dressed, dark, stoic woman.

“Mr. Winchester,” she says, her tone patronizing, “what are you doing dressed and out of bed?”  
  
Dean looks between the doctor and the bed in confusion. “I was told I was being discharged,” he says slowly.  
  
“No, I don’t think so. Your surgery was only twenty-four hours ago, and from what I understand, you weren’t even conscious when you were brought into the emergency room. You need to stay for continued observation before I’ll allow you to leave.”  
  
Dean’s brows shoot up. “Allow me? Look, I'm fine. Hell, I'm great. And I was already told--”  
  
“I will not brook an argument. Please put the hospital gown back on and get in bed. I’ll have Nurse Moseley re-insert your intravenous line.”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Dean says, standing up and fighting hard to keep from grimacing. “You can’t keep me here against my will, so give me the papers and I’ll be on my way.”  
  
Dr. Raphael looks murderous, her jaw clenching. “Fine,” she says shortly. “But if you find yourself in dire straits, you’ll need to bypass Saint Gabriel’s and go to another hospital. Am I clear?”  
  
Dean crosses his arms and stares her down without answering, until she narrows her eyes and finally leaves. “What a fucking dick,” he mumbles, checking his pockets for his wallet, keys and phone. Satisfied that he has everything, he walks to the doorway and pokes his head out, spying a sign for the elevator to his left.  
  
He shuffles his way toward his means of escape, his boot laces whipping about since he couldn't reach to tie them. He's almost to the elevator doors when he hears Missouri’s voice calling for him.

“Mr. Winchester,” she says breathlessly, catching up. “Didn’t you hear me callin’? You need to sign this. I’m sorry ‘bout the doctor. She’s got the bedside manner of a rattlesnake. I’ll be sure to let Dr. Novak know how you was treated.”  
  
Dean skims over the form she has attached to her clipboard and signs it. “Don’t know how you can work with someone like that,” he says, looking Missouri’s kind face over. “Happy holidays, Missouri. Sorry you gotta spend it here with her.”  
  
“I’ll be just fine, young man. Get you a cab to take you home and rest up. I don’t wanna see you back here again.”  
  
“Why does everybody keep saying that? I’m not so bad,” he says lightly.  
  
Missouri pats his cheek affectionately. “Because, seeing you back here means somethin’s wrong.” She pulls the papers out of the clipboard, handing him the pages that were under the page he had signed. “These are your care instructions and prescriptions. Unfortunately, the pharmacies won't open ‘til the mornin’ but you can take acetaminophen for pain. If it gets too bad, you come on back and we’ll give you somethin’ to hold you over ‘til tomorrow. And you call if you have any questions, day or night.”  
  
“I will. Thank you.” After they part, Dean gets outta there, taking deep breaths as soon as he’s out in the chilly night air. The sky is inky, a deep indigo, littered with flickering stars that he can barely make out with all of the streetlights and glowing buildings.  
  
He’s walking toward the curb when he hears someone call out, “Dean,” behind him.  
  
“Shit,” he gasps, turning around to find Cas sitting on a bench in the shadows. “What is with everyone coming up behind me and scaring the livin' daylights outta me?”  
  
“I apologize. I was waiting for my transportation and saw you come out. You’re welcome to wait for your ride with me, if you’d like,” Cas offers.

Dean shakes his head and pulls his keys out of his pocket. “I am my ride. Told ya, nobody but me.”  
  
Cas rises and comes closer, the harsh yellow lights highlighting his cheekbones. “You can’t drive while on pain medication. And how will you get your prescriptions filled tomorrow?”  
  
“Ya know, Cas, it really isn’t your concern, is it?” Dean asks, bristling. He only feels a little bad when Cas looks taken aback. He’s not a helpless child for Cas to coddle, but at the same time he kinda wishes his mom or Sam --or someone-- was there to look out for him simply because they cared.

“I feel it is my concern. I _am_ concerned. I can cancel my ride and take you home myself.”  
  
“You have how many patients? You eat lunch with all of 'em and strike up conversations with each one, offering them rides when they’re pathetic nobodies who can’t even bend over to lace up a boot?”  
  
Cas’ eyes dart down to Dean’s untied boots and back up. “I can tie them for you.”  
  
“You’re missing the point. You were gonna leave without sayin’ goodbye to me.” Dean flinches at his own words. He hadn’t meant to bring that up, nor sound so damn bitter. Tiredly, he adds, “So just go home, Cas. Enjoy your Christmas.”  
  
Something in Cas’ eyes flash and he moves quick, quicker than Dean, snatching the keys out of Dean’s hand. “I would enjoy it better if I knew you got home okay. Let me just take you there and then you never have to see me again.”  
  
Even though they’re standing in the cold, bickering like an old couple, the thought of not getting to see this strange, handsome man again makes Dean’s chest constrict.  
  
“And I wanted to say goodbye,” Cas admits, looking away. “But Dr. Raphael tends to bring out the worst in me and I’m afraid I let my annoyance with her manipulate me into trying to be like her, and many of the other doctors, who are impersonal and cold. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Somehow, I believe you. That woman is somethin’ else, and I don’t mean that as a compliment.”  
  
“Dean,” Cas starts, fiddling with the keys nervously, his voice bordering on desperate, “let me take you home.” The way Cas says it tells Dean that he has a choice and that Cas won't force him into a corner, which softens Dean's resolve a little.  
  
“Seriously, are you just this nice? You do this for all your patients? ‘Cause I gotta say, one day you might get the wrong person who takes advantage of you, hurts you, mugs you…”  
  
“I do not do this for anybody. Ever. Actually,” Cas says haltingly, like it physically hurts him to admit it.  
  
Dean is even more confused. “Then why me, Cas?”  
  
Cas shrugs and narrows his eyes but it isn’t in an angry way. It’s more like Cas is trying to see through Dean, to something deep inside of him. “There’s something… different. About you.”  
  
They watch one another a moment before Dean sighs loudly and finally relents. “Alright, fine. But you’re taking the back roads and you’re taking them slow. You apparently don’t take strangers home and I never let anyone drive my car. Guess we’re both goin’ out on a limb to trust one another tonight, yeah?”  
  
Cas appears relieved and, without a word, he slips his arm under Dean’s arm. Dean is momentarily startled and confused, until he realizes Cas is helping support him as they turn toward the parking lot.

Dean hates how breathless he is by the time Cas helps lower him into the passenger side, but he figures Cas is a doctor and sees it all the time.

He gives Cas a quick run through on how to start up and drive his car but Cas barely listens and is pulling out before Dean has finished explaining. Dean gapes at him but Cas just smirks, a rare little smile that Dean wants to chase until it turns into a full, toothy grin.  
  
“When your father is a millionaire, you tend to grow up around a lot of classic cars,” Cas says by way of explanation. “I couldn’t see her very well in the parking lot but I bet she’s stunning. She sounds amazing, anyway.”  
  
Dean blinks a few times and then chuckles. “Yeah, okay. Well, this is Baby and if you get a scratch on her I’m holding you financially responsible.”  
  
“Not a problem. I am insured and I am a very careful person.”  
  
Dean bursts out laughing and then groans, holding his side. “Careful? Says the guy taking an intimidating, tough-looking stranger home after dark.”  
  
Cas’ smile grows a little bigger, his guard coming down little-by-little the further away they get from the hospital. Even his shoulders relax as he continues to drive, following Dean’s verbal instructions.

“I’m not intimidated by you, Dean,” Cas says slyly, eyes trained on the road. “As for looking tough, maybe I like rugged types.”  
  
The sound of Bon Jovi singing, “Dead or Alive,” suddenly fills the car from Dean’s phone and he hurries to answer it. “Sam?” he says as soon as he answers.  
  
“Dean! My stupid phone was dead, I’m so sorry. I got yours and the hospital’s messages. Are you okay?” Sam sounds panicked and relieved, all at once.  
  
“I think I’ll live,” Dean drawls. “I’m actually on my way home right now.”  
  
“Are you in the Impala? And don’t lie to me, Dean. I can hear the car. Are you driving yourself home _after surgery_?” Sam practically hisses.  
  
“Nah, got a lift. Actually, one of the doctors is taking me home to make sure I get there alright.”  
  
The line is quiet for a few seconds. “Uh, really? You’re letting someone drive the Impala? Do you know this person?”  
  
“Sorta,” Dean says, glancing at Cas who is watching the road, lights flashing across the other man’s face as they pass under each streetlight lining the road.  
  
“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Sam says sarcastically. “What if he tries to kill you or rob you?”  
  
Dean wants to laugh at how preposterous that sounds. The only thing worth stealing is the car rumbling beneath them. Everything back at Dean’s house is base necessity, things that a doctor could afford just fine, if they were even wanted.  
  
“Since when are you so protective and motherly? And I highly doubt he’s capable of that,” Dean says.  
  
“Actually,” Cas interrupts, obviously able to hear their conversation in the tight space, “I am fairly knowledgeable of several ways to kill someone. I could kill you with a pencil if I wanted.”  
  
“Not helping,” Dean whispers harshly, covering his phone.  
  
“Did he say he’s going to kill you with a pencil?” Sam asks in alarm.  
  
“He’s kidding. Cas thinks he’s a damn comedian.” Dean sighs. “Look, he’s just taking me home because it’s late and I’m sore, okay? Apparently driving under the influence of painkillers is a worse idea than letting someone else drive.”  
  
Sam lowers his voice to a decibel that Dean can barely hear. “If you need to use a safeword right now… if you’re being held against your will, cough twice.”  
  
“What?” Dean snaps loudly. “No, I’m not being held against my will. I willingly gave him the keys--”  
  
“Actually,” Cas says again, his voice matter-o-fact, “I took the keys from you. You didn’t willingly hand them over.”  
  
“Dude, not helping. Again,” Dean says to Cas, before talking to his brother again. “Ignore everything he says, Sam. I was being a stubborn ass and so he, yeah, he took the keys and… why are you laughing?”  
  
Sam’s laugh dies down to a chuckle through the line. “Oh, so you finally found someone who doesn’t put up with your shit. Now it all makes sense. Though, I still can’t believe you let him drive your car. Jesus, Dean, who is this guy? I gotta meet him.”  
  
Dean doesn’t want to say that Sam probably never will. Cas will probably help him inside and then head to his own place to crash. He did say he had worked a double so the guy has to be exhausted.  
  
“Well, I’m practically an invalid so...”  
  
“No, he’s not,” Cas says loudly.  
  
“Oh, hey, turn up there,” Dean says suddenly. “No, not a right. Make a left at the next street.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam interjects, trying to get Dean’s attention back to him on the phone, “let me talk to him.”  
  
“Hell no! He’s driving. I don’t want him to crash Baby because you wanna say something behind my back.” Dean pulls the phone away for a second and points out the windshield. “It’s that house, seventh one down.”  
  
Dean reaches over and pushes a button connected to his keychain that is currently dangling from the ignition. The garage door rise just as Cas carefully pulls into the driveway.  
  
“You know I can hear you and tell that you’re home, right?” Sam asks, unimpressed. “I just wanna ask him something.”  
  
Cas holds out his hand for the phone as soon as Baby is parked and the garage door has lowered. Dean grumbles but hands it over, and he realizes his hearing must not be as sharp as Cas' because he can’t make out what Sam is saying.  
  
But Cas is nonplussed as listens between each statement that he makes in response to Sam. “My name is Castiel Novak. I work at Saint Gabriel’s Hospital. Yes, I understand.”  
  
He hands the phone back to Dean and gets out, jingling Dean’s keys and giving him privacy to finish his phone call.  
  
“Damn, it’s good to be home,” Dean tells Sam. “So all this talk about me and I didn’t get to talk to you about your Christmas.”  
  
“It was a pretty standard affair, after the power came back on, anyway. Eileen and I decided that, as soon as the streets are salted and plowed, we’re heading your way. Let the doc take care of you if he’s willing, just until I get there. If anything happens to you, I’ve got his information.”  
  
“Gee, thanks, Sam. I feel so safe with you protecting me from 700 miles away, from the harmless guy who offered to tie my shoelaces. Uh, look, he’s waiting to help me inside.” Less sarcastically he says, “Thanks, Sammy. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”  
  
“Definitely. Get some rest. Don’t drink. Don’t drive. The more you rest up, the quicker you should heal up.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Bye.”  
  
Dean heaves his door open and Cas is there instantly, helping to pull Dean up to his chest. It isn’t until this moment that Dean realizes he’s actually the taller of the two.  
  
Cas is the first to look away, turning and hooking his arm around Dean’s lower back. Dean drapes his arm across Cas’ upper back, naturally slotting their sides together.  
  
He probably doesn’t really need this much support but Cas smells really good, looks really good, and is being a fucking gentleman instead of some gropey fuck, like the type Dean usually runs into. It’s refreshing.

They go through the garage door and into the kitchen, flicking lights on as they pass through to the living room. “I’ll just park here for now,” Dean says, allowing himself to be lowered to his couch. He kicks off his still unlaced boots.  
  
Cas straightens and takes stock of the few beer bottles littering Dean’s coffee table. “No beer,” is all he says, picking up the empty bottles and taking them to the kitchen.  
  
“Is that doctor’s orders?” Dean calls out.  
  
“Yes,” Cas calls back.  
  
Dean should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to have a drink but it at least gives him an excuse to maybe keep Cas here for a bit. “Well, since I can’t have any, help yourself.”  
  
“You-- you don’t mind if a stay a moment?” Cas asks a little less loudly, timidly.

“So long as we keep the pencils away from you, sure. Why not?”  
  
Cas walks back in with a beer in his hand, taking a seat next to Dean. “Where’s your bedroom?”  
  
Dean’s brain shortcircuits. It isn’t until Cas looks over at him quizzically that he realizes the man meant it innocently but Dean can’t help chuckling.  
  
“Upstairs. But I’ll probably just stay downstairs the first couple of days.”  
  
Cas smiles the widest Dean has seen yet, still close-mouthed, but it’s wide enough to make his eyes crinkle. “That is the smartest thing I’ve heard you say.”  
  
“Was that sarcasm, Cas?” Dean slaps his leg. “There’s hope for you after all.”  
  
“Well, I did ask in order to make sure you take it easy going up and down stairs. Is there anything I can get you before I call my cab?”  
  
“You in a hurry to get outta here?” Dean teases, trying to hide his disappointment. When Cas leaves it’ll just be him and the quiet.  
  
“Actually, not in a hurry to get to anywhere,” Cas says carefully. “I don’t want to impose. I realize you are not exactly thrilled with needing someone to help you. But I’m here, so if you need me to grab some things for you from your room, I can do that. I can also make you something to eat?”  
  
“You’re not my maid or cook, Cas. If anything, I should be making you food as my guest. Besides, pretty sure it’s just beer and bacon in the fridge.”  
  
“Uh, yes, I had noticed,” Cas says shyly, taking a drink from his beer and settling back into the couch. “It’s normal to have decreased appetite after an appendectomy anyway. Does anything hurt?”

“Cas?” Dean lays his head against the back of the couch, rolling it to look over at him. “No doc talk. I’m not your patient anymore. Just relax.”  
  
“Alright.” Cas relaxes for all of one minute before he stands up. “I’ll go grab you a pillow and blankets. Maybe a couple changes of clothes so they’re down here?”  
  
Dean huffs and gives in to Cas’ obvious, uncontrollable urge to constantly be doing something to help somebody else. After a minute he listens to Cas’ footsteps above him, walking back-and-forth, and a few minutes later Cas returns with full hands, pink cheeks and diverted eyes.  
  
“If you move, I can make up the couch,” Cas says and Dean obeys. He takes a set of fresh clothes that Cas had brought down, a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, into the bathroom. Before he changes, he uses a washcloth to wash himself up as best as he can since he can’t get his incisions wet from a full shower.  
  
He returns to his couch and finds it covered in a bed sheet, his pillow resting in one corner and his comforter folded on the coffee table next to the T.V. remote. Cas isn’t in the room.  
  
“Cas?” Dean calls.  
  
“Go ahead and lay down,” Cas says, walking back in from the direction of the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. He sets it down next to the remote. “I’m going to make you… something.”  
  
“I said you didn’t have to,” Dean starts but he slams his mouth shut when Cas raises a brow at him. Clearly the guy is going to do what he wants, whether Dean likes it or not.  
  
Dean flicks through the television while Cas is doing who-knows-what in the kitchen. He hates the layout of this house. It’s an older home and each room is closed off to all the others.  
  
It’s also drafty so Dean pulls his comforter over himself and tries to find a position that doesn’t irritate his abdomen.  
  
When Cas finally returns, with a bowl of steaming soup, Dean looks at him incredulously. “This looks homemade. Where-- how?”  
  
“It’s called cooking, Dean,” Cas says, folding himself down onto the empty part of the couch with a bowl of his own. “I found a few random vegetables. The rest is just water and spices. I’d prefer if there was some chicken, or some other protein for you, but this is better than nothing. And it’s light.” Cas looks at him closely, opens his mouth and shuts it.  
  
“You were gonna doctor me again just now, weren’t you? Ask me how I feel? The pain is like a 2 on that pain scale. Barely notice it. Satisfied?” Dean bows his head over the bowl and inhales deeply.  
  
“It must be nice to have a brother that cares about you,” Cas says after a minute, the television lights dancing across his face. “He was very concerned by my presence.”  
  
“Honestly, it’s usually me babying him. Maybe marriage has made him soft or somethin’.” Dean blows gently on his spoon, taking his first bite of the soup. “Wow,” he exclaims. “This is really, really good, Cas. If you weren’t a doctor you could totally open up one of those --what’re they called?-- bistros?”  
  
Cas ducks his head. “It’s just hot water with vegetables. It’s nothing.”  
  
“So humble,” Dean teases, taking another mouthful before it’s cooled off enough. He glances over at Cas. “It’s Christmas and you’ve got nowhere to be. And you think it’s nice I got a brother that cares. Where’s that leave you Cas? Where’s your family?”  
  
Cas shrugs. “Scattered around the world. Most of them self-involved, involved in matters that I find frivolous or unimportant or downright evil.”  
  
“Like..?”  
  
“Like messing up people’s lives, taking advantage of them for personal gain, manipulation and lies. I’m no saint, but I believe in having boundaries and in avoiding toxic people. So I am an outcast, of my own choosing.”  
  
“Hmm, makes sense,” Dean says. He notices the scowl drawing Cas’ brows together. “Sorry you gotta do that at all.”  
  
“Yes, well,” Cas says, clearly uncomfortable. He looks around the room. “Where is your tree? Or decorations?”  
  
“Didn’t feel much like being in the holiday spirit. Was kinda feeling like shit with the whole appendix thing, too. But Sam is coming, so now I feel kinda bad. Even if he will be here after the fact, it would’ve been nice if I had dragged the thing out and put it up for once. Been a few years.”  
  
“Where is it?” Cas asks around a mouthful. He sets his bowl on the coffee table and brushes his hands over his slacks. His eyes are wide and hopeful when he says, “I’ll put it up for you.”  
  
“Really? You’d do that?” Dean licks his lips, taking this as a good sign that Cas is looking for reasons to stay. “Yeah, okay. The tree and a box of decorations are in the basement. We could set it up in that corner.” Dean points to a place off to the left of the television stand. “Basement door is by the stairs that you took upstairs.”  
  
Cas slaps his legs and stands up. While he’s gone Dean changes the channel to some fake fireplace screen, holiday music playing in the background.  
  
It takes two trips for Cas to bring in the long, rectangular box containing the fake pine tree and a big tub full of ornaments that Dean has kept over the years. The ornament tub is pushed close to Dean while Cas starts pulling the tree out of its box.  
  
“I must admit, I cannot remember a time I have ever decorated a Christmas tree,” Cas grunts from exertion. Judging by the awkward way Cas is tugging the tree into place and scrutinizing it, Dean can believe it. It's like watching Bambi take his first steps.  
  
“You’re kidding me," Dean says anyway. "Not even as a kid?”  
  
“Mother would pay for the decor but the house staff would set it all up. There were twinkling lights and glass balls and tinsel. But if I made an ornament as a child, it never found its way to the tree. _Too homely,_ she would say. I think my mother threw them away, so I gave up after a few years.”  
  
“Damn, that’s harsh. If it makes you feel any better, you can make an ornament now and I’ll hang it on the tree.” Dean laughs, meaning it to be a lighthearted joke to ease the tension settling over the room.  
  
But then Cas looks at him earnestly and Dean has to swallow down whatever is rising up and filling his chest. Something that makes his heart skip and palms sweat and causes him want to make everything all better.  
  
“Okay, I think I have it set out right. It appears sturdy anyway.” Cas walks over and squats in front of the tub, carefully taking things out and setting them on the coffee table as though they're precious and spun from glass.

When Cas finds the strand of colored lights, he grins, the first real smile Dean has seen. Cas begins the task of untangling them and Dean catches himself smiling at the scene before him.

A bright, instrumental Christmas song fills the air. Dean is warm from his blanket, the soup, and some happy feeling he can't remember feeling in, oh, forever. The fire may be fake but it crackles and pops like a real one. And then there’s the handsome man dressed in a blue sweater, his dark brown hair falling across his forehead endearingly, standing before a Christmas tree across the room like he's always meant to be there.

Dean discreetly takes a picture with his phone and, as an afterthought, he sends it to Sam. Partly to show his brother he doesn't need to worry about him all night and partly to convince himself that the reason he took the picture in the first place was to send it to Sam.  
 

**Dean - 9:23pm - i put the doc to work.**

_Sam - 9:25pm - oh my god, the grinch is having xmas. its an xmas miracle  
  
Sam- 9:25pm - ps i'm referring to you as the grinch, not your doctor? friend?_

**Dean - 9:26pm - ha ha, very funny. g2g  
  
**

“What are you doing?” Dean laughs, setting his phone on the arm of the couch.

Cas is done untangling the lights and has moved on to draping the long strand around the tree. Or trying to. For some reason he's starting in the middle. “I’m afraid I don't know,” he admits. 

“Start at the top, at the back, and just drape it around at an angle until you reach the bottom.”

Cas starts over and gets the lights hung as well as he can before he looks for an outlet. He plugs it in, turns off the overhead light and the colorful twinkle lights add a charming, warm ambiance to the room. It’s really feeling like Christmas.

“Alright, ornaments.” Cas walks back over and looks over the mismatched, handmade choices in the dimmer light. “Yours look eclectic.”

“Yeah, uh, probably nothing fancy compared to your family’s tree.”

“You sound apologetic,” Cas says, angling his head a little in question. “It was not a criticism. I like them. What is this one?”

Dean eyes the navy blue string filled with old, cracking rigatoni noodles. Every time it moves some glitter pieces flake off and float in the air in slow motion.

“First grade. We made pasta garlands in class. It has,” Dean chuckles, “seen better days.” He watches Cas hang up what little there is of it around the tree.

There are many other ornaments that Dean’s mother collected, of little glass birds and crosses. Cas holds each one up, listening patiently as Dean shares what he remembers, before finding a place for them on the tree.  
  
There are even some of Sam’s creations mixed in. Dean traces a finger over little hand prints and crudely made cotton ball snowmen. He’ll have to remember to have Sam take his home.

Dean has to admit he enjoys watching Cas shift on his feet as he carefully decides which branch will have the honor of holding the specific ornament in his hands at the moment.

Once the tree is full of light and color, tsotchkes of all kinds dangling from the boughs, Cas looks into the empty tub.

“No tree topper?” he asks.

“There’s not? That’s weird. I used to have my mom’s angel one.” Dean is disappointed it’s not in there but there’s nothing he can do about it now. “It’s fine. Probably was put in another box by mistake, or Sam has it. The tree looks... awesome,” he says sincerely.

Cas smiles at him softly and takes the empty tree box and the tub back to the basement. Dean is busy looking over the tree and dozing off before he realizes that Cas hasn't come back up when he should've. In fact, it's been awhile. The thought jars Dean from his half-awake state.

“Cas? You fall and can’t get up?” Dean jokes nervously, loud enough that Cas should hear, even as his heart begins to race in concern. He really hopes Cas didn’t get fall and smack his head.

He’s just about to get up to check on him but Cas’ voice filters up through the floor. “Just— just one minute. I’m finishing something.”

Dean has no idea what the hell that means so he waits. When Cas finally comes back, he locks eyes with Dean as he draws closer. His hands are behind his back, but instead of feeling wary, Dean finds he’s curious.

“I hope you don’t mind. When I was downstairs I saw some random nuts and bolts,” Cas says and Dean bites his tongue to keep himself from mentioning a euphemism. “There was some wire as well. Anyway, I made this for y— the tree.”

And then Cas holds out his hands and Dean can’t believe his eyes. Cas, the same guy who could barely hang up a strand of Christmas lights, had taken ordinary hardware and made a large snowflake by weaving wire through dozens and dozens of nuts.

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean says in amazement, reaching up to take it.

“It was meant to be smaller, like an ornament until...”

He looks it over and finds there is excess wire on two opposing sides of the snowflake. It’s the perfect size to…

“Put it on the top of the tree?” Dean asks, finishing Cas’ thought.

Cas takes it back and gets a step-stool from the kitchen at Dean's prompting, before he tries to jerry-rig it to the tree top with its extra wire. 

Dean finds himself admiring Cas’ profile as Cas steps back to admire his handiwork on his first, ever, decorated tree. Dean wishes he could give something to Cas in return, but he has a feeling Cas didn't make the snowflake for that reason.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, barely audible, turning to look at him, catching Dean watching him.

It’s then Dean realizes they did give each other a gift, and one that money can't buy: companionship and acceptance. 

“Yeah, thanks to you, too, Cas," Dean says softly. "Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas' tree topper is a larger version of this:  
> https://www.pinterest.com/pin/215258057165919987/
> 
>  
> 
> ~TheTwistedWillow~


	2. Chapter 2

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I plan on doing 12 stories; maybe 13 so we end up in December again. Please remember that I believe in happy endings, where Cas and Dean end up together. If there is angst and a couple of roadblocks, they're only temporary. I'm _"making this up as I go"_ so it may just end up being a fluffy, smutty 120,000 word series (yes, that's my goal, bwuahaha).   
  
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